MYSTERIES INVESTIGATED, REPORTS ON THE WEIRD AND THE STRANGE,THE SAVAGE AND INANE; STAYING IN THE ZONE,TENNIS, POLITICS, LAW; THE SCHOOL FOR MYSTICS - TOWARDS THE GREAT LIBERATION (FOUNDATION EXPERIENCE), OVERCOMING REPRESSIONS OF ALL KINDS - STORIES FROM THE FEMALE ORGASM CLINIC: REALIZATION, MINDSHOCKS, CROP AND CANE CURES FOR GUILT AND SHAME; HUMOUR WHENEVER POSSIBLE...TO PENETRATE THE THIN MEMBRANE INTO THE EXISTENCE OF A DEEPER AND MORE AMAZING REALITY AND REPORT BACK TO YOU.

Thursday, April 27, 2017

THE DESCENT IS EASY TO AVERNUS,DESCENT INTO DARK ROSES, LAND OF HEROIC PSYCHOSIS , GLANDS OF METAZOAIC THROMBOSIS; THE TUNNEL PEOPLE, THE LIZARD EYE; THE TUNNEL IS LUSH, SLICK WITH THE GREEN CHARTREUSE…

||||||| weirdness alert||||||||!

over 18 only please

I’d get farther away from myself most days……… if I could!I judge myself –it’s called the negativescript — and the disdain you can feel foryourself is quite surprising. Self-hate abounds.That’s one of the reasons I drink….

*

When I have a brain clawing hangover, as I have now –LAO TZU says: “START WITH COMPASSION FOR YOURSELF”,

then the world will follow in harmony around you.

*

Now…. this morning, things are a bitdifferent. We had a “chartreuse” party.Dexter and Nicodemus, chief brewers of the TunnelPeople always did look a little green…an unhealthy hue, both men have.*

Then again, they’re afraid of the sky –so that puts a crimp in their tanning… Tanning? Tanning? Don’t tell big fibs –no one tans up here, cept in mid-May when thesnow’s still two feet thick – hence, no flies!Bertie, Artie, Matilda & Hanks,and him who I call “Double Dexter” — heof the praying hand, 2 praying-blessinghands, like a prayingmantis…. Except his routine’s not quite so dark…his female doesn’t eat her male, at least not yetanyway – not today, but the morning’s young.Maybe after they pray?..

That foxy little,full-buttocked blonde vixen with the pixiecut – she looks like she could eat somethingall right.I’ll give her something to chew onany time she likes!

(Whoops! Lostone thread and pulled another…)

Hank is making a clanging noiseat the end of the bunker…. which is extendedby about ten feet after last weeks chewing and scrapinginto the cement construction… he chews something and

licks the wall to set the re-bar. What it is I have no idea!…

*

So we pay Dexter $20.00 for just two quartsof “chartreuse”. We call it that only becauseit’s green; and it does have a sweet aftertaste ofsugar and decay…

*“You got tree roots in this stuff?” I askthe brew masters, who look like the less fortunatepeople in a Brother Grimm’s fairy tale.

*

“Aye, and mushrooms of the rarestvariety picked under a waxing crescent moon…”Double-Dexter and Nicodemus sing together in unison

Did they just sing that? Have they been rehearsing?*“Oh, no!” I mumble…”No one would rehearse that song. Dexter,

where does the green come from?” I ask him.I’m on my second glass.

*

” IT COMES FROM THE SWEAT OFF THE ARSEOF A TREE TOAD!” he answers loudly.

A whole sheet or iridescent white lightsweeps like a sheet across Hank’sglued and re-barred wall… It’s beautiful, really…“What the fuck was that?” Foxie asks. (She must

have seen something move.)

*

Good going, Hank. You putsome sparklers in the wall also,… veryclever,” I say. “Better than clever, it’s CUNNING architecture….”I call out to Hank. *

Dexter,Bertie and Matilda are lying on themud floor…unmoving…. Wait, I justsaw Matilda make a squirming motion,like a snake… She’s crept up over Dexter now and appears to be sucking one of his digits…or is she trying to digest it?

*

“Ye gods, no! Is this some ancientritual? Is everybody part of it but me?Oh God, situations like this… ancientrituals… chanting and making hissingand sucking sounds — tribes who indulgedin such practices have never beenkind to outsiders…”

“And… … I AM THEOUTSIDER! …….

In this… situation…”*What? What atavisticprimal twisted thinking is this?

CAUSE OF THE RELEASING OF THE WATERS!or a throat, extending and twistingoff into infinity… slimy, green, andglistening….

*Dexter stares into my eyeswith a look of prescient understanding…he knows the tunnel… he is beckoningto me… he wants me to walk towards it….“CARE FOR A LITTLE STROLL?” he sayswith kalidescope eyes…or were they lizardeyes… I can no longer remember…and thatlittle detail might be essential for myfuture survival…! *Too weird. It does not compute.“Hey Hank, what does KUNTz have to sayabout situations like this?”

*Hank laughs, a long shivering laughthat he CAN never repeat in 1000 years,I hope… He says (Kuntz says): ‘THERE’S NOWHERE TO GOBUT WHERE YOU ARE.”*It makes a strange sordid kind ofsense… is this man some kind of genius?Did he anticipate this meeting already???Did he know what we’d be doing here??Dexter grabs my arm, reaches outto me from the direction of the morning star andsays:

‘RELAX, IT’S TIME TO PRAY.”

Dexie doesn’t kill ya with his prayers

and imprecations…. he makes you

want to kill him. I particularly don’t like it

when he puts his hand on my head! *

“The lord has not created the earth: THEEARTH AND SKIES, GALAXIES AND STARSare being created by the ONE WHO IS CREATINGUS… The LORD IS NOT SOME jealous DEMIURGE

WHO CREATED IN THE PAST TENSE! NO! ”

Double-Dexter proclaims loudly, his fingers

clutching in my hair

*

“Get your hand off my head before I crack you one

with a blunt instrument!” I say, “Stop trying to push me

back down on my knees!” I say. And I mean it.

*

“DO NOT TAKE ME TOO SERIOUSLY,” he says.

… IAM GOD’S ROUNDER, a drunken messenger…

“BE my companion in this rollickingdance that splits the atoms, circles the globesand pierces the galaxies…..Only one Mind is at home here,and there, and millions of light years away,

AND THAT MIND IS MINE!” he shouts

over his congregation… all of whom

are turning from pale faces – to

constant green hues.*

I notice Hank over off to my right

digging his own tunnel once again,

in a snit…

I think of a hound dog digging, kicking out with

his hind paws, throwing out sand beneath

his ass – as frantic as if he were humping your

leg. Which means he has to dig fast…

Hank is digging fast. As always, when he

has another panic attack – he digs towards the east.

Don’t ask me why…makes no sense to me.

*This method of buildingcement reinforced beams out of re-bar and cementin order to support the muddy sand ceiling as he digs

deeper his bunker with urgency…towards the East.All the while to the light of thesecandles that burn like toned-down sparklers….I can only assume the black flecks in the nastyyellow of the candles are tiny dots of gun powder…*What’s so funny now?” I call out. Over thehissing, cackling sounds… the staccato hissingis the candles burning…. the cackling is what passesfor Hank’s laugh…*“What’s funny now?” I ask him again.“It’s what he says,” Hank answers.“

What who says?” I ask.

“KUNTz!” he shouts, a bursting laughpasses thru his nose.

“We are too late for the gods but too earlyfor TOUCHY FEELIES!”

“You can’t fall in the same shit house twice.”

‘You can take a train; you can take a car:But “THERE’S NOWHERE TO GO BUT WHERE YOU ARE!”‘( p.s. That’s the name of a John Rock song) .

Kuntz has started to make rhymes. He is living in the upper Amazon, and has been taking a number of ayahuasca vision trips…with a shaman guide…..

He’s doing it the deluxe expensive way. With me

there was just a fire, the jungle, night birds, fruit bats

and some inquisitive snakes… (I’m not even going to

mention the Little People.)

*

Now he wants to talk. Now he’s gettinglugubrious. Now he wants to express himself. He sings:

“There’s nowhere to goBut where you areYou can take a planeYou can take a carAnd you might go farBut THERE’S NOWHERE TO GO BUT WHERE YOU ARE!”

*

The song seems strangely familiar.

That’s because you wrote it, fuckhead!(It refers to the fact that each of us travels with his own neurosis, obsessions, complexes, and negative script derisions….

whereever each of us goes, we take our whole troubled psyche with us….

so we can go to Lima, go to Alexandria,Bucharest, Bangcock – sit in a cafe in Paris, sit in a dungeonin Toronto —- and it’s the same old brain, the same oldhabits of seeing… but slowly we change, slowly welearn…? Don’t we?)

I SEEM TO BE DESCENDING INTO DARKNESSon a green hallucinatin chartreuse train…. darkmemories….Ninety days butt-naked in solitary confinement,wearing an asbestos fire-proof top… getting my

meals from big-hipped jail matrons… through a slotat groin level….In other words, you want to eat – you stare at her big-hipped groin or her, magnanimous buttright thru the eye slot – aye! aye! I got to like it… More than this I got to need it…BUT…. why are we talking about this? How did weget here?

*

..WE WERE in WAIT-A-BIT! now we’re in a dungeonin Toronto…..

Oh, No! No! We don’t got no grip at all!

*

“Two things are infinite – human stupidity and theuniverse…. and I’m starting to have doubts about

the infinity ofthe universe…”

*“GIVE ME YOUR HAND, LITTLE LAMB; I’LLSHOW YOU HEAVEN AND HELL IN A GRAIN OF SAND,and I’ll take you to the EDGE of the Universe,THE QUANTUM GROIN OF THINGS!”

Got a small generator going….powered an old TV set…the only thing on is a zombie movie,

“Die! Die! Die” the blondeheroine is screaming….

Better turn the volume down… in this silencethe tunnel people will think it’s an invasion….oh I haven’t mentioned the tunnel;people yet , have I?

*

The population of wait-a-bit is 18I bet you’re wondering where the other 14 are…These are the folk who were most disturbed by Incineration Day —- seeing everything they’d workedfor all their lives disappearing in flame and smoke….and then came the second flash.

Bombs come from the skies.The tunnel people

do not trust the skiesso much…. when they are exposed, they rush from A to B…..to the D TRAIN… deeperand more deeply TRAINED to TUNNELinto the night.

*

No need to FEAR THE WEIRDOS HERE.

They is us.

*

Finally I get to meet the Tunnel People.I had heard of them once before… only in a dream…of green Ice-cream….

LOOK AT THE EYES ON THAT ONE!What is the green in that latrine again?The green in that drink? It is swirling, circling…OH we’re going deep deep deep — no blue at allhere…. only green.*THE GREEN EYE OF SOMETHING OBSCENE!It’s a friendly lizard beckoning… wavingme down the green undulating twatish highwayof a nostril snorting me up into a newreality…Something I’m not at all sure I want to see.*

About Me

As years go by, there are more and more things I find not to do. Silence is essential, and loud music from time to time.Born in North Bay, Ontario, I grew up in Jamaica, West Indies, in the Parish of St. Ann. Now back up north, spend time in hut on cliff top, paddling a light canoe, when available

I'm going to do some singing on stage again, name - John Rock and the Angels put out a CD called, "It;s So Serious!" Have to re-master. Now doing CD "Wild Kingdom - A Johnny Rock Retrospective" (double disc)I'm learning how to digitize hundreds of live performance tapes.

My primary concern at the moment isincluding videos for my, "Songs That Cook" feature. And sprucing up recordings from my stage performances, so I can list musicians playing on each track, some of whom have died or gone crazy. Working with various John Rock bands can be mad fun and stressful.Hell, life is stressful. Being an animal in the forest is stressful. Singing and playing rhythms on stage with a group of talented people, that's a joy. When the music becomes one with the audience, that's an even greater joy - that's damn close to heaven on earth.I'm working with over ten diffferent manuscripts - parts of some of them are on amazon.com/kindle and ebooks. These books tend to be serials with chapters being added as I write them.I write erotic and fetish literature as Walker Ballantine (none published so far but coming soon)...Wait! "Stories From The Female Orgasm Clinic" is a Tumblr blog.I write spiritual and realization (foundation experience) tracts - some are published on amazon.comunder the title, "Most Ancient Gospel Found Anew, The Second Coming of Christ; I think some people think I'm a freak because I have had experiences that convinced me that the One Who Is Creating Us is conscious.I write "WAIT-A-BIT! Tales of Isolation and Panic. Moonshine Sketches of a Pickled Town" These are stories about the north that I find funny.There's nothing funnier than seeing a mankicking something in the throes of a tantrum... or the moment he realizes he's screwed because he's landed in the middle of the wilderness -nowhere -and he can't get out and he's hearing tales of animal attacks. And I write plenty more, for example, myBlogger blogs. One of my favourites is "The Whip and the Cross" which speaks of the split between the spirit and the flesh in the human psyche.O.K. Now I'm starting to bore myselfand I'm probably boring you also. So for now,enough is enough!